


Parry and Riposte

by neveralarch



Series: Best_enemies comment fic [6]
Category: Doctor Who (TV Movie 1996)
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: best_enemies, M/M, Swords & Fencing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic about flirting with fencing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parry and Riposte

**Author's Note:**

> Some important info: 'fleche' is generally pronounced 'flesh' by Americans, and 'touche' is usually said 'touch.' One of the lines here is also taken from the movie By the Sword, which generally inspired the whole fic.

The foil in his hand is awkward. The Doctor can't quite get his fingers to adjust to the grip, the odd 21st century one that looks something like a gun and something like a pair of tentacles. He nearly drops the foil before he reaches some semblance of proper grip. His legs feel awkward in the stance, and his knees are already burning, even though he's only been en guarde for a minute at the most.

He tries a lunge, and nearly falls over.

"I used to be very good at this," mutters the Doctor, when he's steadied himself again. "Amazing what you lose, when you haven't practiced in three bodies."

The Master shakes his head at him, smirking from his position at the console. The Doctor tries a jab at him with the foil, and the Master knocks the tip away with his hand.

"You're letting your toes lead," says the Master.

"Yes," says the Doctor. "That's how feet work. My toes are on the end of my feet, ergo they must go first. If they were on the back of my feet, I shouldn't be able to walk as well-"

"You want to shove off your back leg," says the Master, interrupting him with a typical lack of courtesy. "The lunge begins with the rear, and you land with the heel. Your toes should always be last."

The Doctor tries it. He nearly falls over again, before the Master catches his arm, keeping the foil from hitting the floor.

"You're lunging too deep," says the Master. "And you're still doing the footwork wrong."

"I don't understand how you can still remember this," says the Doctor. "You didn't fence when you were made of goo, did you? And your form was abominable in the body before that."

"I liked fencing," says the Master. "I have a close technical knowledge, and you don't lose that when you don't practice. Here, let me-"

He kneels between the Doctor's feet, and the Doctor's ears burn a little as the Master grips his ankles. The Master doesn't seem bothered by the awkwardness of it as he moves the Doctor's feet for him, showing him how the front foot rolls from heel to toe, his hand brushing the Doctor's thigh as he points out the muscles that should be pushing in his rear leg.

The Doctor manages a very passable short lunge, and he only worries a little about hip-checking the Master as he does it. Actually he worries quite a lot about it, but it wouldn't do to tell the Master that.

"Okay," says the Master. He straightens up, and walks around to the Doctor's other side, adjusting the position of his hand as he goes. "Again."

The Doctor lunges, feeling the burn in his back leg, the way his feet are still unaccustomed to awkward turn of the stance.

"I never bothered to take instruction," says the Doctor, as he recovers. "I learned by doing. Bouting at the club, watching the better fencers, dueling evil maniacs."

"It shows," says the Master. His voice is smooth and friendly even when he's being unkind, the Doctor notes. It's immensely irritating. "Your hand is all over the place. We need to work on your grip, and your thrusts-" his hand curls over the Doctor's, shaping the way his hand fits around the weapon. The Doctor's ears burn again, and he's very pleased that his hair's long enough to hide it. The Master's innocently correcting his form, while the Doctor thinks up childish innuendo.

"Once you relearn the basics we can move on," continues the Master. "Flicks. Insistence, and indirect attacks. Proper manipulation of the weapon. Speeding up the preparation before making the attack. Testing each other's fleche."

"You can't be serious," says the Doctor. The stage whisper is studiously ignored by the Master as he moves the Doctor by the hand, pulling him into a lunge.

The Master looks down at the Doctor, lifting his eyebrows. "Derobement."

"That can't be a real term," says the Doctor. He recovers forward, stepping away from the Master, shaking off his hands.

"It's a feint before a prise de fer," says the Master.

The Doctor rolls his eyes and puts down the foil, stripping off his glove. But the Master is there, leaning in too close, and the flush has spread down from the Doctor's ears and is heating his cheeks.

"If you're lucky," says the Master. "We could even redouble it. A reprise, if you liked."

"Don't," says the Doctor, and the Master draws back, a little flicker of hurt in his eyes.

"If you're not interested, then-" he begins, but the Doctor cuts him off this time.

"I meant the innuendo, not the invitations," says the Doctor. "Should we move to one of the bedrooms, or do it here?"

There's a beat of silence, as the Doctor carefully sets the foil in with the umbrellas and tucks the glove into his pocket.

"Unless you had a second intention," says the Doctor.

"I thought no more fencing puns," said the Master.

"I had to keep you from using them all up," says the Doctor. "And now I have. Can we move on, now? I can't imagine you have any more innuendo prepared."

"There's always more, Doctor," says the Master. "Have you ever thought of how your weapon would feel, entering another man's flesh? Pressing in, up to the hilt-"

"Right, absolutely, you win," says the Doctor. He catches the Master's wrist and now he's dragging the Master along, into the corridors. "The prize is actual sex."

"I can't wait to make the touche," says the Master, and the Doctor slaps him with the glove.


End file.
